Wow, OK, here it is, the final story in this collection! I will start a new collection soon, but I've reached my 221 story goal. Thank you so much for joining me in this particular journey. The story is rated T. Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing these stories, I appreciate you all so very much!

Molly hated waiting rooms. They were just so…same. All of them, whether in dentist's offices or doctor's offices or hospital lounges where they sent families to wait for their loved ones to come out of surgery or to finish having their babies or whatever. A room full of chairs and some low tables with well-thumbed periodicals, never on interesting subjects, and other people. Waiting.

Just like her.

She sighed and shifted a bit in her seat, reaching automatically for her mobile then dropping her hand back to her lap as she remembered that the battery was dead and she hadn't brought a charger with her. Ugh. That left nothing but either another trip to the water cooler (and then another trip to the loo) or another go through the stack of cheerful periodicals, most of which were older than ba…er, old.

This was all Sherlock's fault, of course. He knew how much she hated waiting rooms, but he'd insisted that she come early and wait for him anyway. He was damned lucky she loved him as much as she did or he'd have been the one waiting while she drove out to get him. All he had to do was get through one last physical and he'd be home free.

She sighed at the memory of the last physical he'd undergone. The one she'd given him in the back of a moving ambulance after he'd made that awful, cheeky joke about telling him when to cough. Oh, she'd made him cough all right, after giving him a piece of her mind about his insane drug use. And all just to help John get over his grieving and back to living his life again. Hmm, putting it that way it didn't sound nearly as ridiculous as it had when Sherlock had explained his grand plan to her, but still. At least after Culverton Smith had been arrested, tried and convicted to life in prison (and a mere week after his surprise sister had so upended their lives), Sherlock had agreed to a six-week stint in rehab. He could have used six months, but she supposed they were lucky he'd agreed to this much. His excuse was not wanting to leave Eurus alone for much longer than that, since he'd already decided on a course of action regarding her, and neither Molly nor John could find it in them to argue with him about it, no matter their own private opinions of her.

The sound of muffled voices heading her way caught her attention, and she looked alertly toward the door. The voices were definitely getting closer, and she rose to her feet just as the door opened and Sherlock strode into the room.

He looked good. The six weeks away had definitely done him good. He looked healthier if not happier, but she'd expected the irritated expression he currently wore and knew better than to take it personally.

"I've been declared in the pink and released," he announced without preamble, waving a handful of papers above his head in demonstration. "Dr. Velarde here is more than anxioius to see me on my way, as are the rest of the staff, I'm sure."

Indeed, Dr. Velarde had a rather haggard look about her, and simply nodded when Molly raised a questioning eyebrow. The other woman gave Sherlock a perfunctory handshake, then turned and left them, shutting the door behind her with rather more force than Molly personally believed necessary.

Then again, the woman had just spent six weeks as Sherlock's physician; if that was the extent of her venting, it was probably more than one could ask for. "Ready to go, then?" she asked, hauling her handbag over her shoulder.

"God, yes, more than ready," Sherlock agreed, heading for the outer door. He paused and waited courteously for her to precede him, then followed. Once they were on the pavement he spun her round, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.

While she grappled with the fact that he'd just done that, he murmured, "Told you rehab wouldn't make me change my mind, Molly. I love you, do stop questioning it, please. It's making me bloody insecure."

"Poor baby," Molly said in mock sympathy. But she reached up to push an errant curl from his forehead, unable to keep the smile from her lips. "Since you haven't changed your mind about being in love with me by now, I guess I'm willing to believe it's real. So I'll say it back: I love you, Sherlock. It's always been true and it's still true and always will be. Happy?"

"More than you can possibly imagine," he assured her, pulling her close for another kiss. This time she allowed herself to respond, to revel in it, to let the swell of joy in her heart have free rein.

The waiting was finally over, for both of them.